We Come Home
by StellaKelly
Summary: Jem is gone - dead and buried. Will's world is falling apart. Every night, he wakes to Tessa's jagged screams. Tessa, who can't eat and can't sleep and can't look him in the eye. Jem, who is dead. Will, who is broken. Helpless and heartbroken, he tries to put the pieces back together.
1. Chapter 1

The screams were jagged and cut through the Institute like a blade.

At the first, Will was wrenched from sleep in a sickening instant. He lay there until his uncontrollable shaking became too much to bear, and he slid onto the cold wooden floor.

The screams continued, and he pressed his palms to the floor, pushing against it with all his strength. The futile gesture seemed ironic to him in his helplessness, and he fought the urge to throw his fist against the wall until something, anything, shattered. A sob spilled into one of the screams, and he grabbed at his hair, shuddering against the bed as his chest grew even tighter.

Jem, he thought as a course of instinct, and found that the ache deep inside grew bloody with the word. Jem was gone. Jem couldn't run his cool hands over Tessa's hair and soothe her, coax her into herself with music. Will couldn't either, but he didn't have death as an excuse. He had tried in the first nights, struggling to hold onto her hands and she rippled through different forms and screamed at him to leave. Jem is gone, she would moan, I can't do this to Jem. Thus, Will had left, because he couldn't do that to Jem either. Eventually, he had stopped coming at all. In the light of day, Tessa would smile weakly at him as she passed him in, touch his shoulder in sorrow, and turn away. He would find Sophie at night as she was finishing her chores, silently lending a hand and listening to her halting report on her patient. Tessa wasn't eating. Tessa wasn't sleeping. Tessa was sitting in front of the fire, stroking the violin with her fingertips and watching the flames. The screams came most nights, after Sophie had begun to drug Tessa to sleep. There was no peace in the sleep, but Henry insisted that without it, Tessa would not live.

Will opened his eyes to find his hands bleeding. Crescent shaped punctures sat across his palms. Mechanically, he stood and walked to the basin, cleaning the cuts in the icy water. Awkwardly, he tried to wind a strip of cloth around his hands. He had never bandaged his own injuries, and the wrappings were loose and clumsy. He needed Jem, his parabatai, who would have laughed and started over, fixing Will's hands with a practiced touch.

In a moment, he was dressed and armed, shrugging on a winter jacket and boots. The hallways were empty of everything but the endless screams. By the time he had opened the door and ventured out into the night, the howls of the wind seemed as agonized as Tessa's screams. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down as he waded through the icy snow on the streets. London was asleep, and the chill of the air seemed only to stifle every inch of life. By the time he reached the graveyard, he was numb.

The London Common Church Cemetery was lined with a fresh blanket of snow, cloaking the rocky ground. Will found it strangely beautiful, a welcome change from the bitterly cold and icy cracked ground of the preceding weeks. He wandered down to the end of the row, where he knew Jem's stone to be. Every marker was covered in snow, just ripples in the white field. He knelt, knees wet and cold, and brushed his fingers along the top of one of these ripples. The stone was not Jem's, it was that of a fifteen-year-old boy who had died in a factory fire. The stone was hand-hewn and barely legible, the last gift of some grieving mother who had probably bankrupted herself with this meager memorial. Will sat back, breathing on his fingers to warm them, and contemplated the stone. It disturbed him, somehow, and he found himself scooping up more snow to recover it, to leave the boy safe under this peaceful blanket.

Jem's stone was several ripples down, a silver-laced granite monument with his name and years, covered in delicate, barely visible runes. Will's eyes rested on the one he himself had carved, the parabatai rune. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to hold back the hot tears. With a few deep breaths, he had forced them deep down again, where the pain lingered in his chest instead of leaking out his eyes. He blinked, eyes clearing, and laid his hand on the parabatai rune. The memories of Jem in his last days flashed through him, images of the Silent Brothers leaving, the coughing, the blood, the girl sitting beside him for hours, he himself tearing through the streets to try and track down just a little more opium... The last morning. The quiet as they all sat around his bed and said goodbye, when they stopped trying to heal him and just stayed as he struggled for his last hours of life, and then let go. His eyes on Will, clearly saying one last thing: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Will tried to fight away the memories, pressing his hand harder onto the stone. He felt the rune cutting into his skin, and pressed harder.

"Will."

The voice startled him enough to drop his hand and leap to his feet before he registered that it was only Charlotte. He dropped his gaze to the parabatai mark now imprinted on his palm, not meeting her eyes. He felt her hand on his arm, and hunched his shoulders.

"What are you doing here, Charlotte?"

She took his hands and rubbed them between hers, and he finally looked up at her, wrapped in a scarf and a hat, warm eyes fixed on him.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went to find you, but your rooms were empty. I knew you'd come here."

She lifted a hand to his face, brushing away the tears that had broken through at last and were sliding down his cheeks. He brushed at them angrily with the sleeve of his coat.

Charlotte dropped her arms, and looked down at Jem's stone. She bit her lip, and spoke so quietly that Will could barely hear her.

"We're all going to be alright, you know."

Will sagged, his voice rough, "I promised him I'd take care of her. I swore we'd get by, get better. By the Angel, Charlotte, he wasn't supposed to die. I was supposed to go out first, in some dramatic rooftop chase. He was the one who was to stay behind and pick up the pieces, sew everyone back together. I'm no good at this, Charlotte. I don't know- I don't -"

His voice broke he wrapped his arms around himself. Charlotte hovered, unsure what to do.

"What would Jem have wanted?"

Will let out a slow breath, carefully keeping his voice steady, "I don't know. I think... I think he'd want me to sit with her, and tell her comforting things, be kind and gentle... Charlotte, I'm no good at those things."

She held his eyes, "You think that Jem doesn't know that? Jem wouldn't want you to be him. Will, you never could be him. Jem is gone-" her breath caught, but she continued, "The world will never have another Jem. Don't deprive the world of a Will as well."

"Tessa doesn't need a Will." His voice was numb.

She grabbed his chin, making him look at her, "She doesn't need the boy who loves author's words and other worlds? The boy who fights till the very end for those he loves? The one who rescued her from Mortmain at his own peril?"

He nodded slowly, soaking in her words.

Charlotte wrapped her arms around him and embraced him fiercely, murmuring into his ear, "He'd want you to try."

As she stepped back, he looked at her again.

"Charlotte! You can't be out like this!"

She looked startled, then laid her hands on her belly, "Oh, him? He doesn't mind."

Will took her arm and began dragging him toward the gate, "You'll freeze! Henry will put me through hell if anything happens to either of you."

Charlotte laughed, and the sound seemed to break something in the moonlit graveyard, "On the contrary, I have heat enough for two. Besides, Henry doesn't do anything I tell him not to do."

Will groaned, eyes falling on the single uncovered stone one last time, and walked her back to the Institute.

Will hovered by the door of Tessa's room, watching Sophie gently shake the unconscious girl awake. She was coated with a sheen of sweat, her face twisted in horror even in her dreams. He swallowed, and Sophie turned toward him with a sorrowful smile. Tessa struggled as Sophie continued to shake her, thrashing and moaning, years running down her cheeks. Sophie cradled her face, trying to pull her up. Tessa's eyelids fluttered, and she fought her way to consciousness.

"Jem…" she groaned, her voice ragged and rasping. Her eyes focused, and she locked eyes with Sophie. The realization came every time she woke - that Jem was truly gone and truly never coming back. Will saw the grief transform her face for an instant, and felt a stab of pain in his chest. He shifted on his feet, and the floorboards creaked. Tessa's head snapped toward him, and her face crumbled. She hates you, Will thought, she can't even look you in the eyes. He wanted to step away, to spar, to run, but his eyes flicked to Sophie, who nodded encouragingly.

"Tess…" He tried, stepping forward. She turned away, burying her face in her hands. He stepped closer, voice imploring, "Tessa. Tess - I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She looked up between her fingers, stifling a sob, "It's not… why are you sorry, Will? It's not your fault. You didn't do anything."

He sank beside her on the bed, both of them staring at the icy window, "Exactly! I didn't do anything. I could have looked further, robbed Mortmain… by the Angel, I could have traveled to China to get it - I could have-"

She interrupted him, her voice louder and rougher, "I didn't mean that. Stop, Will."

He fell silent, but his face was still agonized, and he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck violently.

"Stop!"

She forced the last word out so hard her voice broke, and she winced in pain. He looked at her, at her sweaty, tangled hair, her feverish cheeks, the hollowness in her eyes. Her legs were still tangled in the sheets, and she was turning thin in all the wrong places. His hand hovered in the air, about to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. She pulled away, eyes falling to the floor.

"You did enough, Will. You did what Jem wanted. But, you have to understand, I can't be around you."

He tried to break in, to meet her eyes, to break out of this shell of grief and numbness.

"Tess..."

"You need to leave." Her voice was low but clear and sure.

Will looked up at Sophie, whose forehead was creased. She lifted her shoulders helplessly.

"I'll show him to the door," She said quietly, and touched Will's shoulder. He stood up, not looking at her as Sophie walked him to the door. Will waited just outside it, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders stiff. She shifted in the doorway and bit her lip, then slowly closed the door and turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

Will showed up in the kitchen at six. Bridget eyed him up and down, assessing something. He stood stock still, brows raised.

"Should I strike a pose for you?" He asked innocently.

She ignored his remark and tossed him an apron. He raised his eyebrows at Sophie, but gamely tied it on. Sophie handed him a knife and a pile of potatoes, and sat him down at the kitchen table.

"Peel," she said. He had never peeled potatoes before, but he picked one up and started to slide off the skin. It was surprisingly therapeutic, even if the slimy feel of the naked potatoes was a little disconcerting. He slipped into a rhythm, just listening to Sophie and Bridget banter with each other. They moved with such ease, bumping hips and passing utensils. Bridget hummed and teased Sophie about Gideon. Sophie merely blushed and elbowed Bridget. When Will had finished the last potato, he sat back and soaked in the warmth and comfort of the kitchen. He fell into a daze - he was so _tired_. His eyelids felt heavy, and he fought to keep awake.

At last, Sophie scooped up his handiwork and tossed it into a pot on the stove, taking a seat across from him. Her face turned serious, and he felt dread coursing through him.

"She didn't eat again today," Sophie told him frankly, "She tried to tell me that she had eaten part of the bread, but I saw the birds eating it outside her window."

He put his head in his hands, "Did she sleep?"

Sophie shook her head, "She just sat by the fire all day. With his violin in her lap, too."

Bridget dried her hands on her apron, "Shameful, the waste of that instrument. I've never seen a better one."

Will nodded, recalling Jem's pride, and the way he had cared for the violin. His face always softened when he held it, just like it did when he looked at Tessa.

Jem and Tessa.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked up at Bridget thoughtfully.

"Do you play?"

She smiled, "Not in many years. My mam taught me when I was eight, but when I started working, I had to give it up. It's a lovely instrument, but makes a god awful racket when you practice."

Will smiled slightly. He had shut Jem in the furthest bedroom when he practiced, complained about it for hours. Sophie eyed him knowingly, and he scowled.

"Does she ever read?" Will asked, changing the subject. Sophie made a disbelieving face and shook her head.

"I don't believe she even really sees anything, I doubt she could make herself read."

Will sighed and pushed his chair back from the table.

"Try to make her eat something tonight, please?"

Sophie glared at him, "I always try. What do you want me to do, force the food down her throat?"

He considered this, "Would you?"

She smacked him on the arm and stalked out. He rolled his eyes skyward, resting his hands on the back of his chair.

Bridget chuckled, "You deserved that one, Master Will. You know as well as anyone that no one works harder than Sophie to care for Miss Tessa."

He harumphed, but had no viable reply to that. He leaned there for a moment, thinking.

"Do you remember anything of the violin, Bridget?"

She shrugged and began draining the potatoes, "I suppose I could pick it up soon enough. Why d'you ask?"

"I was wondering if it might do Tessa some good to _do_ something with that wretched violin."

Bridget considered this, elbow deep in hot water, "That's an interesting idea. I think we might try it, and see how it goes. Shall I try to see her tomorrow?"

"Yes, please Bridget," He sighed and untied his apron, "I'd better dress for dinner. It does feel a bit ridiculous to after peeling my own potatoes, you know. Can I just go as I am?"

Bridget clucked, "No, indeed, Master Will. You'd insult my cooking by showing up your training clothes? I think not."

"Would you please not call me that? It feels quite odd. If you do, I shall have to call you Miss Bridget."

She sighed and shooed him out of her kitchen.

Presuming that Tessa's screams would keep him from sleep that night, Will found himself in the library after dinner. He sank into his favorite chair, resting his head on his arms and closing his eyes. His eyes were hot and heavy, so he shut them. The room was warm. He exhaled slowly.

It was a shock, therefore, when a hand shook him awake. He started, groaning and rubbing his eyes. He blinked sleepily up at Cecily, who looked vexed and concerned simultaneously.

"Why weren't you in your room? I've been looking for you for ages!" She snapped.

"I thought I'd never sleep, so I came here. Besides, you're not supposed to be in my room. _And_ I'm always here. Why were you looking for me, anyway?"

She perched on the arm of his chair, "Charlotte told me you left the Institute at midnight last night. What _were_ you doing?"

He eyed her dubiously, "Charlotte told you that?"

She shrugged, "I saw you coming back with her. She told me not to ask you about it, so here I am. Where did you go?"

He shut his eyes again, "Go away, Cecily."

"You went to the graveyard again, didn't you?"

He groaned, louder this time, "Go _away_. If I wanted to talk to you about it, I-"

A scream sounded, sharp and pained. Will broke off, wincing. Cecily was watching him, so he tried to relax his muscles. The second scream, however, ended in a gasp and a cry, and he couldn't help himself. In a moment, he was on his feet, pacing in front of the fire. Cecily pursed her lips.

"Are you alright, Will?"

He growled, "Cessy, I don't need this right now."

Another scream, and he was doubled over, trying to push away the pain. Cecily darted over to grip his arms, holding him steady.

"Will."

He didn't respond, breathing heavily.

"Will! William Herondale, look at me. _Look_ at me." With an effort, he did, and she gripped his hair to hold him there, "You need to go to her."

"She doesn't want me. She needs Jem…"

She tried to argue, but he looked at her with such grief that she couldn't get the words out. She tried a different tack.

"To be quite honest, brother dearest, I couldn't care less if she wants you. You need her to stop howling, that's clear. So stop her."

He turned away, "I can't just-"

"You can and you must, Will."

"How?"

She floundered, and he took pity on his younger sister.

"All right, Cessy."

He walked to a bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. They caught on a worn book with gold lettering. He tugged it free, facing his sister.

"I'll go, but you have to go to bed if I do."

She nodded, and wrapped him in a quick hug.

Thus, he found himself at Tessa's door, aching at every scream. He knocked softly, knowing that she wouldn't wake. At the next moan, he couldn't stop himself and slipped inside. She was tossing and so tied up in her bed linens that for a moment he thought she was strangling herself. In an instant, he was beside the bed and grabbing her hot wrists. She kept shaking her head, eyes closed.

"Tessa. Tess." He pulled on her wrists, but that didn't wake her from her drugged stupor. A sharp discomfort coursed through him - hells, what was he doing here late at night in her bedroom? He considered how best to proceed, eventually, instinctively, grasping her shoulders and shaking her. He realized that he had done this with Jem many times, when his feverish dreams had become too desperate. She startled, opening her eyes. For a moment, she just stared at him. As she regained her senses, she pulled away and leaned back against the headboard, breathing heavily.

"Will. You can't be here."

He knew that already, but ignored her, reaching for a candle and matches on her nightstand. She blinked at the bright light.

"What are you doing? Please, Will, just leave. I can't do this right now."

He sat on the chair beside her bed, opening his book and then looking at her, "I couldn't sleep."

"You can't just come here! Jem…"

He gripped the arms of the chair, "Jem. You know, that's the first thing I think of when your screams wake me. Jem. I get up. I start to go to his room, and then it hits me. Every time. Every single damned time."

She watched him in the shadowy light, unspeaking. He couldn't stand the silence, so he continued, "You haven't been reading."

She looked away, taking a long while to say, "No."

"I brought this." He held up the book helplessly, "Dickens. _Great Expectations._ I remember you said you liked it, that first night."

She didn't respond, just sat there with the light flickering over her.

Will looked down at the page and found he couldn't focus on the words. Tessa's covers rustled, and his eyes flicked toward her instantly. She pulled the blankets around her like a cloak, with only her head visible. He didn't smile, but his face relaxed. She yawned.

"You shouldn't be here." She murmured, but didn't tell him to leave.

He nodded, "I know."

He looked back down at the page, cleared his throat, and began to read.

**Please review, (If you liked it and especially if you didn't).**

**...If you're out there.**


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